Make A Wish
by Alcarin
Summary: A new nurse, Lieutenant Sarah McLaurian, aka Mickey, arrives at the 4077th MASH and is quickly befriended by Radar. The two are forced to making a hard sacrifice
1. Chapter 1

A jet flew over the camp while a jeep skidded in the mud. The camp was so quiet it seemed deserted. The compound whistled with a soft Korean wind, but other than that, there was silence. Just past the compound, however, a long, brown building was exploding with activity. Men and women in white were bustling around each other and barking orders acrossan operating room. Tension was flying through the room with each word. As usual at the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, the doctors were overloaded with patients,while losing their patience. They had worked through the entire night before and now they were working away the morning. The only person who seemed to be keeping his cool was Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce--Hawkeye to his companions.

"_I'm gonna take a Sentimental Journey_…" Sang Hawkeye's deep voice over the mayhem around him.

"Cut it out, Pierce!" Shouted Major Frank Burns in his usual whiny, nasal voice. "Some of us are _trying_ to operate." His masked face bent down to look at his patient, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. "We shouldn't have to work in these deplorable conditions: No sleep, rats in our cots, singing in the OR…It's _very_ hard to operate when I'm this tired!"

Hawkeye rolled his gray eyes. "I'm sorry, Frank." Frank's mask stretched as he grinned. "I'm sorry for waking you up while you were operating." The grin disappeared. "What's the matter?" Hawkeye continued,"Hotlips not tucking you in at night anymore?" Frank's brow furrowed as the head nurse, Major Margaret—"Hotlips"—Houlihan's steely eyes opened in wide shock over her surgical mask.

"How DARE you!" She shrieked. "You perverted filth! I NEVER…"

"Cool it, Major." Colonel Henry Blake's calm—yet annoyed—voice sounded over the shouting. The operating session went on for 36 hours.

And so goes life at MASH

After the session, the surgeons and nurses stumbled into the sunlight, squinting, aching, yawning, and stretching. It was 0700 hours and they were exhausted. Captain Trapper McIntire led the surgical staff out of the hospital and Hawkeye followed, scratching his stomach. When the sunlight hit Trapper's face, he groaned loudly, stopped walking, and turned to Hawkeye. "What _is_ that?" Hawkeye continued walking past Trapper. "What's what, what?"

"That bright yellow ball in the sky? It burns! It burns!" Hawkeye smiled, familiar with this light-hearted bantering.

"That, my dear son, is the sun." He replied. "The star of the day, the separation from night, the symbol of summer, apple pie, and picnics with local lovelies. It gives us warmth when no one of the female persuasion is willing and it conveniently hides itself so we can sleep at night." Trapper grinned back at Hawkeye as they reached their tent. Trapper grabbed the handle of the door and swung it open for Hawkeye, bowing as his friend entered. Their tent was aptly called "the Swamp". That particular day, the swamp looked as though it had barely survived a hurricane: olive drab clothingwas draped on every piece of furniture, Hawkeye's worn and stained red robe hung over their distillery, and Trapper's hat lay on the floor, gathering dust next to his "specially made" pin-striped suit.

Hawkeye fell like a dead weight on to his cot, but jumped up howling in pain. Apparently, he had forgotten that before the helicopters came, carrying wounded, he and Nurse Baker had tried to have a romantic meal in the swamp. When the PA system announced the choppers were on their way, Hawkeye and Baker threw their forks and canned peaches haphazardly on his cot. One of the forks decided to forcefully remind Hawkeye's rump of the failed interlude.

"Wasn't there a nurse here?" Hawkeye asked as he rubbed his abused rump.

"Nope, just a figment of your imagination." Trapper answered, moving over to the still—a contraption made of wires and flasks that poured out homemade gin.

"My figment just pierced my derriere with a fork."

"That's what you get for getting fresh with your imagination." Trapper poured gin for himself in a dingy martini glass. He tipped the jar filled with gin in Hawkeye's direction. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Hawkeye wrestled with himself for a second or two, but ended up saying "No thanks, I don't like being drunk and dead at the same time. It takes the fun and flavor out of randomly falling on an unsuspecting nurse." Hawkeye carefully stretched out on his cot and closed his eyes. Trapper shrugged his shoulders and sipped on his drink. He slowly moved over to his cot, trying not to step on the odds and ends strewn about the floor. He sat down and gradually swung his legs over the side of his cot, groaning like an 80-year-old man. He slugged back the rest of his gin and glanced at Hawkeye—who was effectively falling asleep.

"Ferret-face isn't home yet." He said, somewhat loudly.

Hawkeye moaned. "Trapper, I'm going to suture your trap shut if you don't shut it! I haven't slept in three days…I really don't want to spend a fourth monitoring Frank's every move. I'd rather give myself an appendectomy."

"I was just wondering where he was." Trapper said, trying to defend himself.

"Oh," Hawkeye muttered. "I'm sure Margaret is hearing a wonderful tantrum about how 'degenerate' we are." Hawkeye sighed. "Now shut up and let me sleep!"


	2. Chapter 2

Down the dirt road, in a tent that seemed the complete antithesis of "the Swamp", Margaret sat in a pink Kimono consoling a distraught Frank Burns with soft little kisses on his ears.

"Oh Margaret, Margaret." He whined. "It's just not fair! Pierce and McIntire can get away with anything in that operating room! Whenever we try to defend ourselves, the colonel jumps down our throats!"

"I know, I know darling," Margaret said sweetly. "It's three against two and it really isn't fair."

"Well, you know it's not just three against two, don't you? It's everybody!" Frank's voice raised an octave and Margaret rolled her eyes. The whole camp was accustomed to Frank's paranoia, but it didn't make it anyless annoying. "The whole camp is against us, Margaret, from that idiot Colonel down to that runt corporal." Just then, there was a light rapping on the door.

Frank and Margaret looked like two deer caught in headlights. Even though the entire camp knew of their liasons, they still had delusions of it being a private matter. "Who is it!" Margaret shrieked as she tried to cover he Kimono and Frank rummaged around, trying to hide.

"Um…it's the 'runt corporal,' sir." Margaret flung the door open and found Corporal Radar O'Reilly—the youngest soldier in camp (in mind, if not physically)—standing in his rumpled uniform and dirty spectacles.

"You little creep!" She hollered at the boy. He flinched as though he had been lashed. "Were you eavesdropping on mind and the Major's conversation?"

The corporal timidly looked down, trying to avoid eye contact with Margaret, and spoke rapidly into his clipboard. "Uh…no sir!"

"MA'AM!" She corrected forcefully.

"Yes sir, er…ma'am…sir." Radar peeped over his clipboard and a shadow of an innocent smile passed across his face. Margaret's attitude softened an undistinguishable fraction.

"What do you want, Corporal?" She asked exasperatedly.

"Oh, it's not me, ma'am…sir…it's the colonel, sir, ma'am. He wanted me to tell you that a new nurse is being shipped here from the 8063rd." Before she asked him to, he was handing her a folder filled with facts about her new charge. She eyed him suspiciously.

"That will be all, Corporal." She said, finally calm.

"Thank you ma'am…" Radar answered. "And, just so ya know, I don't think this new nurse is against you sirs yet." He had meant it innocently enough, but he soon realized that he had just proven himself guilty listening.

"You WERE eavesdropping, you little snoop! GET OUT!" Margaret's calm face disappeared and was replaced with one of demonic rage—which most of the camp was accustomed to. Radar's eyes opened in wide fear. He clutched his clipboard close to his chest and scurried away quickly as she slammed the door to her tent closed.

She turned around, expecting to see Frank, but she didn't at first. She looked down and saw him cowering in a corner of her tent with his army jacket covering his head. "Is the little twerp gone?" He whispered loudly. Margaret rolled her eyes.

"Get up, Frank. He knew you were." She grabbed Frank's arm and helped him to his feet. "That little creep of a corporal is always sneaking around!" She moaned. "You're right, Frank, they ARE all against us!" She puckered her face in an angry pout.

"They make life so miserable around here!" Frank agreed, his voice matching hers in its whine. "I think I'd prefer being in Indiana with my wife!" His face froze immediately in fear. He realized that he had made the mistake about two seconds after the word 'wife' escaped his lip-less mouth.

"Oh!" Margaret whimpered. Tears forming in her angry eyes, she yelled "Frank, get out!…GET OUT!" When Frank didn't move, she picked up her silver hairbrush from a nearby table and hurled it at him. Suddenly, he was moving, and, like Radar, he scurried away. For him, however, it seemed like he was running for his very life.


	3. Chapter 3

After about an hour's nap, Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake stood in his khaki pants and navy-blue Iowa sweatshirt and his fishing cap, loaded with hooks and lures. His eyes scanned the tent their usual confused manner. His tent was littered with not only his dirty laundry, but also Nylons and braziers that Leslie left hanging above his cot. Henry shook his head at the irony. He's always yelling at Corporal Klinger (the designated camp transvestite) to get out of women's clothing, and here his tent was covered with it. He looked around his tent again, knowing that he needed to be doing something important, but for some reason, he couldn't place his finger on it.

He sat down on his cot to think. Unfortunately, he forgot the hanging laundry and his fishing lures got tangled in the pair of silk nylons that he had picked up for Leslie in Tokyo two months ago. He tried to untangle himself from the nylons, but ended up catching his finger on one of the hooks of his hat. Finally, he was fed up with trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing, so he resolved to call on Radar. Radar was Henry's right hand, he always seemed to know just exactly what ever person in the MASH outfit would be doing at all times. Henry sucked air into his lungs, ready to bellow across the camp:

"RAD—"

"Yes sir?" Radar mumbled, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Henry's lungs expelled all the air he had anticipated yelling with.

"Don't DO that!" Henry said, startled with Radar's rapid appearance. "How many times do I have to tell you not to come here until I call you, even if you KNOW I'm going to call you!"

"Uh, yes sir, Colonel, sir."

Henry smiled confidently and clapped Radar on the back. "Good boy, now that that's settled…"

"You wanted to be ready to greet Nurse McLaurian when she arrives here at 1400 hours this afternoon. You also wanted to meet with Major Houlihan and have her arrange quarters for said new nurse and rearrange shifts to give some of the older nurses time off for resting and recreating…" Radar continued to rattle off Henry's schedule at an alarming rate until he was interrupted.

"Radar, how did you know that I was going to ask you what I was supposed to be doing today?"

Radar shrugged. "Why else would you call me, sir?"

"But you came _before_ I called you!"

"That's because I knew you needed to know what you were supposed to be doing today."

Henry opened his mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. Radar's sense of logic always baffled Henry. They could go on for hours, repeating the same circle of a conversation over and over and never meet in the middle. Henry usually surrendered easily. "Alrighty, you're the boss." Henry said, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

"That's not funny." Radar replied quietly and indignantly, which only made Henry laugh.

"Okidoki, that will be all, Radar." Henry said, but Radar was already out the door, leaving Henry alone in his tent with nylons still stuck to his hat. But then, Radar stopped, turned around, and headed back towards Henry's tent.

"Yes, sir?" He asked.

"Radar…you did it again…you came before I knew I needed you." Radar hung his head in shame.

"I'm sorry sir."

"That's alright."

Radar smiled and spat out quickly "I'll tell Klinger that you want to see him in your office right away."

"No!" Said Henry; annoyed that Radar could guess what he wanted. "I want you to tell Klinger that I want to see him in my office right away." Henry had a habit of finishing his though, even if everyone around him were pages ahead of him in the conversation. Henry's hands found his hips as he sighed exasperatedly.

"Yes, sir." And Radar was off again.

Henry tried once more to unhook the nylons and he stabbed his finger again.

"Darn it," he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

Five hours later, Henry sat in his office, his feet propped on his desk and a cigar hanging out of his mouth. A white gauze bandage was wrapped around his finger, complementary of the battle with his nylon-attracting hat, which still sat firmly on his head. Radar peeked his head in through the swinging office doors. "Sir?"

"Yes, Radar?" Henry answered with a sigh, wondering what the corporal wanted this time.

"Corporal Kinger is here to see you, sir, like you wanted him to be." Radar looked behind the door and stifled a giggle. Henry rolled his eyes and tried to prepare himself for whatever Klinger might have dressed in.

"Alright then, show him…" before the rest of the sentence could escape Henry's lips, Radar had disappeared and Corporal Maxwell Klinger was standing in the middle of the office in a floor-length red ball gown, his usual fox stole, and decked in gold jewelry from the gold tiara in his short, black hair to the gold rings on his fingers. He clicked his heels together and saluted.

"You rang, my Colonel?"

Henry groaned. The dark Lebanese man always seemed to try new and interesting insanities to get a Section-8 discharge, which was only reserved for those soldiers who had truly gone mad. His favorite method was dressing up in women's clothing. If Henry hadn't been in charge of the hospital, he would have commended Klinger for his hysterical attempts. Instead, he just sighed loudly.

"You look smashing, as usual, Klinger." Sarcasm was dripping from every word.

"Thank you, sir. I made it myself, sir!" Klinger clicked his bright-red pumps together after each 'sir' in a highly military fashion—which only added to his bizarre appearance.

Henry shook his head. "Klinger, Klinger." His tongue tsked in the back of his mouth. "An evening gown before noon?"

"Sometimes one wants to feel dressy when one pulls KP for three weeks in a row…sir." _Click_ "You wanted to see me, _sir?" Click._ Henry exhaled loudly again and motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk.

"Have a seat, Dorothy." Henry smiled at his own joke, while Klinger merely rolled his eyes.

"I don't remember a red number of _this_ caliber in Oz, sir." He muttered defensively, but he sat down across from Henry anyway.

"Okidoki." Henry breathed, standing up. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he started pacing nervously around his desk. Klinger watched him walk back and forth; realizing Henry was reluctant to bring up whatever it was he was about to say.

"Colonel, you're making me sea-sick!" Henry looked up, with a confused expression. He realized he was pacing and stopped. He straightened his back a bit and cleared his throat.

"Klinger…do you remember when General Barker visited last month?" Henry's eyes shifted back and forth, as if they were still pacing nervously, whether his body was or not.

"Of course I do!" Klinger replied proudly. "I always remember when any 'Big Brass' comes to visit!"

"Yeah, well…ya see…" Henry started pacing again, stopped, looked at Klinger with his face set in determination and said "Klinger…you _really _can't go on insisting you're engaged to the man!"

Klinger's face moved from an amused look to mock annoyance. "Colonel Blake, are you trying to ruin my engagement announcements?" His large brown eyes grew wide in a devious stare.

"I'm not trying to 'ruin' anything!" Henry insisted. "You're not engaged! Least of all to General Barker!"

Klinger stood up, yelling. "How dare you spread nasty rumors about my fiancé!" Henry was becoming more and more agitated with Klinger's obstinate behavior.

"Klinger!" He barked. "I have orders from General Barker himself! To confiscate all of your dresses and to report you for kissing a superior officer!" Klinger's defiant smile vanished.

"You wouldn't dare take the 'Klinger Collection!' Wouldn't it be easier to just send me back to Toledo?"

"That's out of the question, Klinger. You've given me no other choice with that gag you pulled." Henry sat down in attempts to look more official and firm.

Klinger leaned on Henry's desk with both hands. His fox stole fell off his right shoulder as he pushed his face inches from the Colonel's. Very resolutely and calmly, he stated "You can make me peel potatoes day and night. You can make me carry limp bodies back and forth in the operating room. You can refuse to let me go home, but you can never—_will _never—make me give up the 'Klinger Collection' without a fight!" He slung the lose end of his stole back on his shoulder, turned on his pump and marched out of the office, his red gown trailing behind him.

"Dismissed" Henry muttered in surrender.

"Sir?" A small voice came from right next to him. Henry jumped out of his chair and looked at the source of the voice.

"Radar!" He managed in his shock. "I swear you're going to give me a heart-attack one of these days!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to, sir. Hey, at least you're a doctor. You wouldn't have to get it diagnosed or nothing." Radar smiled at the colonel, who was glaring back at him sternly.

"What is it now, Radar?" Henry asked slowly, through gritted teeth.

"Uh…Major Houlihan is here to see you, sir."

Henry felt a drag of dread. He hated his one-on-one time with Hotlips Houlihan. She was constantly working against him or reporting his lack of command to a slew of Generals behind his back. "Thank you, Radar…" Radar turned to go. "Wait, Radar. Do me a favor? Please go to Klinger's tent and clean out his dresses."

"I will sir, I promise…Right after the choppers." Henry saw that Radar's face was suddenly alert and serious, and then he was running out of the office.

"Wait! Radar!" Henry called after him. "What choppers? Where choppers?"

"Wait for it!" Radar yelled back, still running towards the compound.

A few seconds later, a voice crackled over the PA system. "Believe it or not, folds! We have a double-header tonight. Choppers to the welcoming pad, surgical team one to report to OR immediately!" Nurses, corpsmen, and doctors began rushing to the compound to start sorting through the incoming wounded. Even the camp chaplain, Father Francis Mulchahy, was rushing out of his tent to help. Henry saw Margaret out helping Frank with triage and his first thought was of relief that he didn't have to face her. Soon, however, his relief was replaced with dread again. Headquarters had assured him there wasn't going to be any more wounded for at least a day or so. Yet here was a new batch of wounded only six hours after their last session.

Henry was suddenly aware that he had been sitting in his chair instead of rushing to the hospital. He knew the wounded would be prepped quickly and he still had to go scrub up. He walked briskly through the swinging doors of his office and towards the hospital. Behind him, he heard Radar explaining to Hawkeye that these were leftovers from the morning's session that had been pinned down by sniper fire. Hawkeye muttered "When are these bastards going to stop waking us up from 15-minute naps to stand in the blood of babies?" As usual, Hawkeye was able to boil everyone's sentiments down to its simplest form. The surgeons marched into the scrub room and prepped for surgery.


	5. Chapter 5

Once all the wounded were sorted through in triage, Radar usually became obsolete around the operating room. He was sometimes needed to relay messages back and forth between Headquarters and Colonel Blake about the shelling situations, sometimes he was asked to bring food and juice or milk for the staff during the longer sessions, and only in dire situations was he ever asked to scrub up and act as a nurse.

This session was not as bad as most because the wounded were left over from the earlier one. The number of casualties brought this time was only a fraction of what was brought before. Radar ducked out of the hospital, clipboard in hand, and squinted as the sun beat down on his face. The position of the sun marked an hour or two past noon, the day was barely half over and Radar was already exhausted.

He sat down on a wooden bench just outside the OR, grateful to have a few seconds to rest, finally. He had a guilty pleasure in not being needed for this particular session. Half of the camp was working through the hubbub going on inside the building behind him. He closed his eyes and leaned his cap-covered head against the bulletin board hanging on the wall behind him. In the time he had spent in Korea, there were few moments that he found he could block out the war; the sight of it, the smell of it, even the sound of it could be completely erased for a split second. This was not one of those times. When his eyes closed, he started by filtering away the rustling papers on the bulletin board behind him, then he erased the distant sound of artillery, next he sifted out the clanking of surgical clamps and scalpels being used inside the OR. The yelling voices of doctors, nurses, and corpsmen soon followed…but there was one underlying sound that he could not erase. It was a light whirring sound like a far away engine of a machine or jeep. Radar opened his eyes, squinting again because of the harsh sun. He looked out onto the main road for the coming jeep. He didn't necessarily expect to see it right there, but it was coming nonetheless. It was at least ten or fifteen minutes away. He never could explain his uncanny ability to know thingswere going to happen before they actually did. His head began aching with the isolated whirring sound, which happened often with his so-called premonitions, so he let the war sounds trickle back in.

_Huh_, he thought. _I guess our new nurse will be arriving kinda soon._

As surely as if it were on a timed schedule in Radar's mind, an olive-drab jeep, driven by a corporal and carrying a female Lieutenant, obviously the new nurse, pulled into the compound exactly ten minutes after Radar had heard it. The whirring finally stopped. Radar appreciatively rubbed his now quiet head and jogged over to the jeep. Radar gloated to himself about predicting the nurse's arrival.

The corporal driving the jeep threw the brake on, stood up inside the jeep and saluted. Radar, not used to receiving salutes, accidentally returned it with his left hand--which he also forgot was holding his clipboard. Not only was he red with embarrassment of his military faux pas, but also his forehead was going to have a very large bump where his clipboard hit. He abashedly dropped his left hand to his side and issued a proper salute to the Lieutenant.

"Corporal Rad…er…Walter O'Reilly, welcome to 4077th MASH." The corporal in the jeep did not respond, but sat down firmly in the driver's seat. When the driver sat down, Radar finally got a good look at the new nurse. She was probably between 19 and 21, wholesome and pretty, with wisps of blonde hair sneaking a peek from under her uniform hat. She had a smattering of freckles across a slightly up-turned nose, and her eyes were large and green.

She looked at Radar and said "Please excuse my driver, this is his first time away from his unit and he was pulled off the road by military police. He's been fairly quiet since." Her voice was earthy, with a slight mid-western accent that he couldn't quite place. She stood up and stepped out of the jeep. As she walked to where Radar was standing (with his mouth gaping open), he could fully see her delicate and shapely figure. She saluted him and his face flushed a deep crimson as he saluted back.

"Lieutenant Sarah McLaurian reporting for duty." She sounded like a very confident woman, but when she dropped her hand from the salute, Radar saw that she was shaking slightly. He wondered if she had practiced her introduction a few times one the ride over like he used to when he was new at MASH. "And you are Corporal…O'Reilly, wasn't it?" She asked timidly.

"Um, Ma'am, please, call me Radar…everybody else does. Sometimes I don't even recognize my own name when people call me it." Radar realized he was babbling, so he changed the subject. "The Colonel wished to be out here to meet you himself, personally, when you arrived, but he's in surgery…I mean…He's operating. He's not sick or nothing like that." He grinned shyly as he picked up her suitcase. "Um, I don't know where your new quarters are s'posed to be, the choppers came before Major Houlihan—she's the head nurse—told Colonel Blake where you'd be staying."

"The Major _tells_ the Colonel the quarters arrangements?" Lieutenant McLaurian asked incredulously.

"Oh, not all the quarters…just the nurses of the female sexes." Radar stumbled over his words trying to find a proper explanation. The lieutenant nodded. "If you'll follow me, Lieutenant, ma'am, I'll show you to the VIP tent where you can leave your belongings until Major Houlihan is out of OR…and um…then maybe I could give you a tour of four-oh-double 7 until they're done." Radar blushed again. "Unless, of course, you don't want to, which is okey-dokey."

"That's sounds nice Radar…" She began.

"Yeah, well, I can understand your not wanting to, you must be tired…" Radar rambled.

"Radar, I said it would be nice." She interrupted shyly. He blushed again. "And you can call me Mickey." Radar looked at her with a confused gaze on his face. She tried to explain, "It's a lot easier than Lieutenant McLaurian."

Radar beamed again as the proverbial light bulb went on in his head. "Oh! Mickey! Like the mouse!"

Mickey giggled. "Yeah…like the mouse." And with that, the two headed off towards the VIP tent while the silent corporal stiffly drove away.


End file.
